


small stories

by NairobiWonders



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: Blonde, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Gen, Holidays, Humor, Joanlock - Freeform, Kid Fic, Platonic Joanlock - Freeform, Season 7 scenes, Sleeping Together, implied violence/death, song inspired tho it's hard to tell
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-27
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2019-11-06 16:04:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 2,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17942858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NairobiWonders/pseuds/NairobiWonders
Summary: I'm collecting the 2019 smaller fics that I post on tumblr here. The subjects and tags will be varied but for the most part it will be joanlock. I'll change the title to this at some point - I am terrible at titles for things





	1. Nevada

The bus smelled of exhaust and pine cleaner. Cold and bone-tired, Sherlock and Joan walked the length of the almost empty bus to the darkness of the back seat. Eyes darted to catalog and identify their co-travelers. Two older women staring blankly out the window, a young male dozing with earphones in place and a very elderly man, head tossed back and mouth wide open who thunderously snored at irregular intervals to confirm his non-deceased status. Innocuous enough, he supposed, still he would keep his eyes open. She sat next to the window and he guarded her side.

The door closed with a swoosh, the bus lurched then took a tight curve, headlights illuminating at first a swathe of black asphalt, shiny from the freezing rain, and then the flat, empty browness of the Nevada desert.

His green wool hat was pulled down almost to his eyebrows, ears tucked in against the cold. He had brought her her black beret, the wool one she favored, and a cream colored crocheted scarf, long enough to wind around her several times. “Okay?” He asked.

Joan smiled politely and nodded but her eyes betrayed her pain. The red hue of her nose was not due to the cold. He had received her plea for help not more than 24 hours ago and used whatever means he could to get to her.

Sherlock smiled tenderly at her attempt at bravery. “You’ve had a busy day today.” He tried to downplay the horror they were leaving behind them. His comment instead of soothing caused the last of her walls to crumble and emotion to trickle through. Panic played across her face as she sought his help to control the flood of tears that threatened to spill.

He placed his arm around her shoulders and held on. Joan burrowed into him, her hand clutching at the navy blue material of his coat. “Hold me closer,” she whispered and he scooped her tight against him.

“I’m sorry, Watson. It’s alright. It’ll be alright. You had no choice…” he continued to whisper words of comfort and endearment at her ear as she softly sobbed into his shoulder.

Headlights streamed past them on the highway, eventually disappearing into the deep black of the night. They were going home.

Behind them, on the cracked linoleum floor of a dingy motel, lay Jamie Moriarty, dead, her face forever registering surprise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story was inspired by a warm and fuzzy feeling a song left me with (an old song) but as I wrote it some how turned on me. The core of it is there, there's blatant clues to the original inspiration in the text.


	2. Priorities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A 221 - Previously posted on tumblr and amended with a few more words making it A 344b if such a thing were to exist ...

nairobiwonders  
a 221  
She removed her tie and unfastened the top buttons of her shirt.

Sherlock stared, “It won’t work.”

“What are you talking about?” She sat on the table, inches from where his hand lay.

“The work always comes first.” He replied sternly, keeping his eyes on the papers before him. “We agreed.”

“Mmhmmm.” She bent over to take a closer look at one of the documents. 

His eyes strayed and lingered until with a sharp intake of air he pulled himself together, “Watson, stop. We may indulge ourselves once the work is done. If you will help we can sort this out in no time.”

“Sherlock,” her hand moved to his collar, “it’s a cold case. It has no ….. urgency.” The last word was whispered in his ear.

He weakened just for a moment, leaning into the softness of her before rallying once more. “No. Your siren song will not work. We finish reviewing the case, then …” he motioned towards the staircase.

Joan pulled back and abruptly stood. “Fine. Finish what you’re doing.” She started to walk away. “It’s not all that late. Perhaps I’ll call Marcus.”

“You wouldn’t ….”

“We’ll try to keep the noise down and not interfere with your ….”

The scrape of wooden chair legs across the floor were her only warning before she felt his hands on her hips.

***

He could not tell how many seconds, minutes, hours passed when he lay with her. Keeping track was irrelevant ... impossible to measure, his whole being, body and mind, completely lost to her. 

Her cheek rubbed against his bare chest as she nestled closer with a satisfied sigh. His arm adjusted to better accommodate her. 

“Would you really have called Marcus?” 

She smiled into his chest before lifting her head and dragging her body up against his until they were face to face. Her nose lightly rubbed his. “You’re the detective, you tell me.”

He stared intently into her dark eyes and with one hoarsely whispered - “Joan” - he moved, rolling her beneath him and taking both of them into a timeless state of bliss.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few words more than a drabble. Holiday fic.

The kid stood stock still on the lawn and quietly surveyed the scene before him. Shrubs, flowerbeds overflowing with spring blossoms, budding trees and grassy paths all carefully scrutinized. His peers giggled and scattered in all directions. After a minute or so, as if answering some unheard call, the child purposefully walked to the rose bush and extracted a yellow egg from its base. He proceeded to systematically walk the length and width of the garden and fill his basket. From beneath the shade of her parasol, his mom smiled. His dad, to her side, arms folded before him nodded his approval. Easter egg hunts with that Holmes-Watson boy were just no fun.


	4. Light

He sat in darkness surrounded by hatred. Hatred for himself and everything he had ever done. This wasn’t the usual self-loathing. He knew self-loathing intimately; it sat across the table from him each morning and berated his choice of cereal. No. This was more than that. This shook him to his core. The great Sherlock Holmes misread all the clues, reached the worst and most wrong of conclusions, fucked things up royally and let a murderer walk free. And there was no conceivable way to right the wrong … and he could not let it go … and he sat, wanting to implode, crumble into ashes, and disappear into the darkness…

The room was suddenly ablaze. He squeezed his eyes shut against it, brought his hands to his face, attempting to stop the infiltration of light, the piercing reality that laid bare all his faults. 

“It’s too dark in here.” Her voice was at his side and he felt her sit down beside him. Watson nudged at his shoulder with hers. “Here.”

His eyes opened just enough to see the offered bowl. 

“Take it,” she ordered and not looking at her, he did.

“We really need to do something about that ottoman.” She spoke between spoonfuls. “It’s losing its stuffing. I don’t want to reupholster it. I love it just the way it is. Just maybe some reinforcement…” and she continued to prattle about the mundane realities of their home while he ate, lost in the comfort of her voice. 

She took the empty bowl from his hand. “He won’t win, you know.” Her voice shifted to a whispered intimacy, “We’ll find a way. I have faith in us.” He looked into her determined eyes and felt the slimmest of sparks ignite within him. 

Suddenly, she was standing, “Come. Help me with the dishes.”


	5. in plain sight

The light from across the street pushed long violet shadows into the room. Marcus sat within those shadows and waited for any sign of their suspect, Herbert Bronks, extortionist and possible murderer. He had been sitting at that window now for the better part of two hours when he heard the soft scrape of the apartment door being pushed open. Captain Gregson quietly entered, coffee cup in hand, and picked his way through the darkness towards him. 

Stretching his arms over his head, Marcus nodded a greeting, “Not bad. I ask for coffee and they send a Captain to deliver it.” He grinned. 

Gregson smirked and handed Marcus the cup. “Anything?”

“Thanks. Nope. Nothing yet.”

The Captain stood in the shadows beside him, “I thought Holmes and Watson were with you.”

“Marcus carefully removed the cup’s lid and breathed in the aroma. “They’re here.” Marcus pointed over his shoulder with the lid. “They took the first shift. Taking a nap. Guess they hadn’t slept in a day or so.” He took a slow sip and let out a content sigh. “Though Holmes did not go down without a fight. Joan forced him to lay down.” He smiled at the Captain, “She is fierce ... although you’d probably have to be living with Holmes.”

“Gotta hand it to those two, they’ve managed to make their partnership work even in the worst of times and still respect each other.” He stopped, staring blankly out the window as memories of his first marriage surfaced unbidden - the fights, the sullen silences, the walking away....

Gregson sighed, “Maybe that’s the key. Respect. Keeping a certain distance is probably healthy too. You know, in all the time I’ve known them I’ve hardly ever seen them touch.”

Marcus smiled broadly and squinted an eye at him, “Well, I don’t know about that...” He motioned to the Captain to the far dark corner. 

Gregson peered over. Barely visible in the gloom, lay a mattress; tattered, broken and badly mended furniture had been piled into corners around it. He stood and moved a little closer.

With their coat and jacket substituting for sheets, Sherlock and Joan lay fast asleep. His head lay on her shoulder, nosed pressed up against her neck, arm around her waist. Her hands lay on his cheek and head, one leg curled between his. 

Sherlock snorted a snore against her skin and she jumped. Without opening her eyes, Joan murmured, “You’re snoring, honey ... move on your side.” He dutifully rotated to lay on his shoulder facing away from her and she pressed in against his back, arm threading protectively beneath his arm and then around his chest. They adjusted, snuggling in closer to each other; he lay his hand over hers where it lay against his chest weaving his fingers in between hers. Both fell once more into a deep sleep.

Gregson shook his head in disbelief, “Okay then...” and moved back to stand by the window. Watching the pedestrian traffic below, he wondered what else was right before him that he just wasn’t seeing.


	6. Blonde

He let himself in to 221a. As per their habit as of late, he had texted her first thing in the morning. Once up, she’d texted him back and he’d made his way over from 221b with breakfast. Her job was getting the tea started. 

Sherlock clattered into the kitchen “I think I’ve come up with a likely motive for…” The sight of her stopped him in his tracks. He stared at his partner, mouth open as if to speak but no words came forth.

“What?” Her gaze challenged him. Joan was fully prepared for his derision. She braced herself for what was sure to be a snide jab. Sherlock did not like change. 

He managed to close his mouth and set the tray on the table before turning back to look at her. He moved closer and studied her for a second or two more. “It’s very becoming,” he tilted his head and looked at the fair strands of hair that framed her face. “… very becoming.”

Joan’s face softened. Unprepared for a compliment, all she could manage was a quiet, “Thank you.”

He stood mesmerized for a bit, wanting to touch, to further examine. Sherlock brought his hand up, fingers tentatively extended. His eyes cut to hers, “May I?”

Surprised by his request, Joan nodded and then watched as the tips of his fingers gently took the golden ends of her long hair, softly smoothed and twisted the strands before letting them fall back onto her shoulder.

“Lovely.” He whispered and stopped himself before he lost too much control. Abruptly, he moved back towards the table. “Excellent choice. Not that you need my approval of course.” He lifted the cover on the breakfast tray and proceeded to plate their food while expounding on his new theory. 

Joan half listened to his remarks while trying to process what had just occurred.


	7. Undercovers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Missing ending of the bed scene in 7.05 after the phone call ends and Joan throws the covers over her head. They were way too comfortable with his just jumping on to the bed. Obviously not the first time ...

Sherlock sat motionless for a second contemplating the information Marcus had just relayed. From beneath the covers next to him came his partners muffled voice, “What time is it?” 

Putting the phone down he turned his attention to her. “A little after seven.”

“Sherrrlockkk!” Still under the covers, Joan stretched out his name in a pleading whine. “We’ve talked about this. I need more sleep.”

“Watson, we went to bed around midnight. That’s seven hours worth of ...”

“But we didn’t actually get to sleep until way after that.”

He stopped and let a slow smile slide across his face. “Point taken.”

Beneath the covers, a similar warm look crossed her face.

He moved closer and gently lifted a corner of the covers. Her eyes shifted up to look at him.

His face drifted beneath the covers towards hers. He whispered, “If I were to come back in an hour or so with your breakfast, would that be alright?”

“Okay.” Joan tilted her head up in invitation and Sherlock dipped down, to find her lips.


End file.
